


Kerry

by HermitLibrary_Archivist



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Pre Way Back, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-26
Updated: 2008-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-22 22:26:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4852865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermitLibrary_Archivist/pseuds/HermitLibrary_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Tasha</p><p>One of the more controversial stories in B7 fiction.  Some have questioned whether it is really a B7 story at all.  A young Avon is trained to be a sex slave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kerry

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Judith and Aralias, the archivists: This story was originally archived at [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hermit_Library), which was closed due to maintenance costs and lack of time. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2015. We posted announcements about the move and emailed authors as we imported, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hermitlibrary/profile). 
> 
> This work has been backdated to 26th of May 2008, which is the last date the Hermit.org archive was updated, not the date this fic was written. In some cases, fics can be dated more precisely by searching for the zine they were originally published in on [Fanlore](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Main_Page).
> 
> **Original Author's Notes:**
> 
> Previously published in 'Dark Fantasies 1'.

Another blow struck the quivering, naked buttocks and the young man lunged against the metal restrains holding him in place over a padded rail. His ass and thighs burned from the painful strokes which fell one immediately after another. His stomach felt cut into two by the rail. Blood pounded in his ears. His wrist cuffs were attached to his ankle causing his shoulders to ache and his leg muscles to spasm. Pleas, cries, and screams might stop the beating. They might not, too. The chained youth had learned that the education and the punishments of pleasure slaves stopped only when the trainers and masters decided and not when the slaves decided. The young man cried out with the next blow. The blows continued.

"You will learn to assume the proper attitude, Kerry," sneered a harsh voice. "Nod if you understand and will comply."

The blows continued. As much as his pride and his chains permitted, Kerry nodded.

The punishment stopped. Kerry labored to regain his composure, but he could not stop sobbing. Then rough hands fondled Kerry's ass. The fingers traced the criss-crossed welts causing more waves of pain. Tears seeped from under Kerry's eyelids. Quickly, the trainer repositioned the chained man's arms to behind his back. The wrist cuffs were fastened together and then locked to a short length of chain hanging from a metal slave collar. The trainer pulled the manacled youth to an upright position.

"That's right, boy toy. You stay quiet or you'll get more of the same."

Kerry's latest punishment had been the result of a cock-sucking training session. Kerry had rebelled when what seemed to be the twenty-third dick had been thrust in his face and he had been ordered to suck it.

Once Kerry was upright, the trainer blindfolded him and fastened a leash to the collar. Cautiously, Kerry followed the pull on this new chain. He was pushed down on his back onto a slick surface and the leash attached to a ring on the floor. He felt his cock being gripped by the rough hands as a lubricant and then something flexible was slipped into the pisshole. He involuntarily shuddered as he recognized a catheter being inserted into his bladder. The bound man sighed silently. He hoped that he would not, as was usually the case, have to beg for the catch on the rubber tube to be released and his bladder emptied. Unseen hands rolled him over onto his stomach and greasy fingers stretched his hole. A butt plug was pushed in and secured to a wide leather belt buckled around his waist. The leash was released and he was unceremoniously pulled to his feet. He could only imagine what he must look like. He was a filthy, naked, blindfolded, chained animal with a rubber tube dangling from his dick and his ass stretched by a butt plug.

Following the steady pull on the leash, he shuffled across the room. He stopped when he heard the command to stop. Hands on his shoulders forced Kerry to his knees and he was encouraged by bare-handed slaps to his sore buttocks to crawl toward a wire animal cage. Without the use of his hands and eyes, the bound man moved slowly earning more blows. At the cage's doorway, he waited motionlessly for the leash to be removed. From time already spent confined the very familiar cage, the slave knew that he would not be able to sit or stand comfortably. As best as he could, the youth settled himself into a fetal position. It might be minutes or hours before someone came to water, feed, or empty him. Behind the blindfold, the youth shed silent tears. He tried to comfort himself by remembering a better time in his life. Abruptly, however, his mind conjured up the images of his last hour of freedom.

* * *

"Good evening, Kerr," Sardon Avon greeted his nephew.

The silver-haired man gestured for the younger man to enter luxurious white ground car. One of Sardon's assistants was already seated on the rear-facing seat where Kerr was motioned to sit. A second assistant entered the car and sat to Kerr's left.

"I am glad that you were able to forego your studies this evening and dine with me," Sardon smiled and moved a brightly decorated box closer beside him. "Although it may have been years since I was a university student, I still remember how much time I spent at the computer terminal. Probably, I would have had to decline an invitation to dine this close to my final examinations." He turned to speak in the ground car's intercom. "Drive on."

"I find myself in the midst of a major crisis. And I do not know when I will have the freedom to celebrate both your upcoming twenty-first birthday and the end of your university career."

Kerr Avon settled back into the soft upholstery of the rear-facing seat. With his uncle's two minions sitting on either side of him there was not quite as much room as normally. Usually, the assistants sat up front with the driver.

"Good evening, Uncle," Kerr greeted his uncle courteously.

Although he had never particularly liked his uncle, Kerr respected Sardon's financial acumen. Instinctively, Kerr knew the older man was not one to be crossed in his business life or in his private life. Besides Sardon would be his guardian for only six more weeks.

The door of the ground car slid shut with a sigh as the door sealed close. The car slowly made its way out of the gates of the Technical University of Greater London.

"Uncle, the invitation to dine with you tonight was most welcomed. I just finished writing my last treatise when you called. Is there anything I can do to help you find a solution to your crisis?"

"There may be, but let us tonight forget my problems. We are here to celebrate your birthday and your graduation. Let us talk about happier subjects. Have you made plans for yourself after graduation?" The older man continued the conversation. "Have you considered joining the Banking Cartel?"

The conversation continued in much the same manner covering Kerr's studies and his future plans.

"Kerr, in order to maintain my position during this crisis, I have been forced to use your inheritance from your parents."

Kerr was stunned. His face reddened with anger.

"But my parents left the money for my education," interrupted the young man.

His inheritance had not been large, but if it were used judiciously, it would have put him through graduate school. He had planned for the remainder to set him up comfortably after leaving school. How was it possible that his uncle could have gotten his hands on his parents' money? His mother and father had hired one of London's finest solicitors to draw up the wills and trust. With his uncle/guardian's consent, Kerr could draw on his funds to pay for tuition and other essentials. On his twenty-first birthday, he was to gain control of the balance. From his own words, his uncle admitted that he had absconded with Kerr's inheritance. His dislike of the older man turned to hate.

"Kerr, shut up," the commissioner admonished his nephew in a deceptively gentle tone.

Kerr immediately understood that he had pushed his uncle just about as far as the man would allow. Kerr had always known that his uncle was a dangerous man. This was the first time that the younger Avon had challenged the older Avon in the three years that the commissioner had been his guardian. These last statements had set off Kerr Avon's temper. He might regret it later, but for the moment it felt good.

Then it slowly dawned on him that his twenty-first birthday was fast approaching. Soon he would have found the missing funds on his own and perhaps caused the scandal that his uncle was trying to avoid. Well, he could and would cause his uncle more grief than the commissioner could imagine.

Reaching into the gaily decorated box beside him, Sardon took out a set of handcuffs. While the assistants held Kerr's hands and arms, Sardon snapped the gleaming manacles onto Kerr's slender wrists. The other two men in the passenger section of the ground car had turned into Kerr's guards. Unsuccessfully, the younger Avon tried to fight his guards, his uncle, and his restraints.

"You can understand the necessity of these, Kerry." The commissioner leaned back into his seat to study the angry captive. "I find that I need more money and you are my one remaining asset of which I can easily dispose."

Kerry was the name his mother had called him during his childhood. On anyone else's lips but hers, the name was demeaning. Kerr added another reason to the list to hate his uncle. The younger Avon continued to struggle futilely to escape the guards' hold on him.

While one guard's fingers dug into Kerr's arm, the other knotted a scarf around the youth's neck. When Kerr lunged for his uncle's throat again, the guard countered by twisting the scarf. Kerr could only sit with tears brimming from anger--a smoldering anger that would never quite disappear.

Quietly the ground car had traveled from the Alpha district of the city to a Beta district. The luxurious car slid silently to a stoop before a dura-steel gate which opened after the driver inserted a small plastic card. The drive was a winding affair between hedge rows. Stopping in front of a duro-brick two-story building, the ground car settled to the pavement with a soft thump.

Kerr was pulled and pushed from the car by the two guards. Each grasping an arm, both men stood on either side of the cuffed man. One guard still held tightly the scarf in his fist. Sardon followed and stretched his stiffening back muscles. The door of the duro-brick structure slid open and a short, pudgy figure emerged.

"Aaah, Commissioner, it is so good to see you again," bowed the figure. Turning, he examined carefully the captive. "I presume that this is the merchandise you promised." The man walked around the captive. His blue eyes continued to move over the young man's body speculatively.

It finally dawned on Kerr that his uncle had more in mind for him than simply stealing his inheritance. He tried once again to pull away from the guards and attack Sardon.

"You bastard!" he spat, kicking out at the older, heavier man. The guard twisted the scarf and Kerr found himself fighting for air.

In a full roundhouse blow with his open hand, Sardon Avon caught the youth full in the face. Then he reached over and grabbed the disheveled, dark hair. Looking into the enraged eyes, he spoke. "I have been wanting to do that for years. It gives me a great deal of satisfaction to be rid of you. You are entirely too moralistic to join the family business, dear Kerry." He sneered the pet name. "Your precious person will pay off the final debts of the cartel. You should feel honored to do your father's family such a service." Turning to the oily, little man who had stepped back under the overhang of the building, he said, "Take him away."

"Yes, sir. Yes, sir," the Beta fawned. He stroked the gasping young man's reddened cheek. The pudgy man turned and pushed a button near the door.

"When will the credits be delivered?" questioned Sardon Avon.

"The auction will be in six weeks," answered the little man who was still staring at his newest trainee. "We get so few of these young Alpha males that there should be no problem finding the proper Master. But first we must condition him properly. Rare is the Master who is willing to buy such a hooligan as he is now as a pleasure slave. You understand that we prefer to use old-fashioned methods rather than modern drugs to condition slaves."

Commissioner Avon nodded his agreement to the master slave trainer. "Will there be tapes of the training sessions? I think I would love to see my dear, late nephew being taught his new duties."

"Certainly, sir," smiled the Beta. "I will be sure to lay aside a copy of the best sessions for your enjoyment."

It had not taken long for Kerr to regain his breath. He tried to listen to the conversation between his uncle and the fat man. Slowly through the haze, he began to understand the meaning of what was being said. He had heard stories about this kind of establishment, but he had not truly believed in its existence until now. He started to curse. He never noticed the three dark-clad figures that moved toward him. His first warning of them was when a hood and gag were slid skillfully in place on his head. He was forced to his knees and a choke-chain collar was looped around his neck and the scarf removed. His wrist cuffs were then unfastened and refastened behind his back and attached to the collar so deftly that he never had a chance to struggle. The unseen hands lifted him upright and he was marched into an echoing hallway. He stumbled as he was led down invisible steps.

* * *

That had been the last time Kerr had seen his uncle. His life had been reduced to moments of stark terror and excruciating pain. How long he had been in this hell he had no idea. There was no way for him to judge the passage of time. He was only occasionally without the hood and gag. The intervals between waterings, feedings, toileting, training sessions, and rest periods constantly changed. He did not know if a week or a month had come and gone. He was never unrestrained. Some of the positions he was put in were terribly humiliating and painful. In those first few hours he was stripped, given a genetic and medical examination, received his first enema, and fitted with a bladder catheter and butt plug. When he refused to cooperate during the sex training sessions, he was rewarded with whippings, mild electric shocks, tit clamps, and other forms of punishment. Even when he did cooperate, he still might be punished at the whim of the slave trainer. Rarely did cooperation earn him any rewards. But occasionally it did. He savored the memories of a drink of fruit juice or a bowl of salted gruel or the chance to feed himself. There was no pattern to his life that he could grasp outside of pain and humiliation. He felt his very sanity was hanging by the silken thread of revenge against his uncle.

* * *

"There is one last piece of new business," Sardon Avon looked about the Governors' Boardroom of the Banking Cartel. "I spoke with the law enforcement authorities just before I convened this meeting. At that time, Commissioner Talmard told me that there was no new information concerning the disappearance of my nephew, Kerr. Personally, I think they are still treating his disappearance as a young Alpha's lark in the lower domes.

"I blame myself. I know that Kerr and I haven't always gotten along, but I do care deeply about the boy." Sardon's eyes glistened and his voice quavered. "If only I had been able to prevent him from getting out of the ground car, he might not have vanished."

"Sardon, what is done is done," Ivir Jonz spoke softly.

"You speak truly, friend, but I cannot help but go over and over that last evening with Kerr. I keep looking for clues. I keep looking for ways I could have changed things and perhaps prevented that last disagreement." Sardon wiped his hand across his forehead. "I just don't know."

The board of governors sat quietly looking about the room and at each other. They looked everywhere but at Sardon. Most felt embarrassed at Sardon's emotional outburst. They waited silently for Sardon to continue.

"I have asked my solicitor for advice. If Kerr is not found before his birthday, I need to know what legal steps I should take." Sardon's voice grew stronger as he spoke. "My solicitor is in the process of filing a guardianship continuance for my nephew's shares. I will continue to administer his interests until he is found."

* * *

Kerry waited. He waited. His life had become a series of periods of solitude interspersed with periods of discomfort and pain. And pleasure. While he waited, Kerry chastised himself for the pleasure he felt through the pain. Before his captivity, he had tended either to ignore pain or to relieve it with medication. Now he was not permitted to do either. Pain was a constant part of his life. There had been a few times when he was being hurt that Kerry found himself begging for more pain. Pain and pleasure intertwined until the sensations became one. His mind reached for an emotional high while his body reached for physical release. Kerry reddened in anger at the memories when his body responded to the pain. His rationalization was that his body anticipated the soft, stroking caresses that infrequently followed a whipping session. Kerry wept silently. He knew not if it was from the obscene memories or front desire.

Finally, he slept.

Awakening with a start, Kerry froze. Had he been seen sleeping? He had not been given permission to sleep. Breaking the rules of his existence would bring an end to the few luxuries he had earned during his training. Food was more varied and in larger quantities than it had been at the beginning of this nightmare. Rather than just poorly cooked grain, occasionally, Kerry found bits of vegetables in his bowl. Once or twice, the grain had been flavored with spices. Taking a deep breath, Kerry decided whatever happened because he fell asleep, he could and would take it. He had to take it. He had to survive in order to take revenge on his Uncle Sardon.

Kerry felt his cage shake slightly as the door was unlocked and raised.

"Out," ordered the trainer.

Inching his way on his knees out of the cage, Kerry kept his head bowed. Looking any place other than down was one way to find oneself chained to a post for a long session with a belt or whip. Despite his memories of pain and pleasure, the bound man did not take any chances. He had spent a relatively restful period as his hands had been cuffed to the leather belt he wore. His feet had been left unhobbled. So he had been able to move a little within the confines of the cage. He had learned to ignore the discomfort of the cage's wire mesh flooring.

Immediately, the trainer tipped Kerry's head back. Quickly and efficiently, the trainer put drops in Kerry's eyes. He then slipped audio-distorters into Kerry's ears. Within minutes, Kerry could distinguish light from dark. He could still hear, but all voices sounded the same. They were sexless, flat, and mechanical.

From past experiences in this hell hole, Kerry knew better than to try to predict what would happen next. A scrubbing might mean that he would be serving at a private party.

Serving was right. Private parties might not be the right term, but that was how Kerry thought of them. There were times when he was taken from the training area to another location. The smells were different. The air was cleaner, scented with flowers. The floor was not the coarse stuff that scratched and irritated his knees. Sometimes in this other place he served as a decoration--a naked man bound in suggestive poses. Other times he was the sucker and the fuckee. Always there was a discipline session afterwards. Through pain and punishment, the trainer would impress upon Kerry each and every fault. Kerry would do better the next time or else...

* * *

Numerous video screens covered the console in front of Sardon Avon. He lounged in an overstuffed chair, swivelling from side to side to glance at each monitor. Each screen looked on a different part of a training area. He watched a woman trainer whipping a bound male. He studied two trainers slowly wrapping with cloth strips a slender girl. Two more trainers were enjoying themselves torturing an obviously recent slave acquisition with an enormous dildo. One trainer oiled the asshole while the second trainer teased the slave with the phallus. Even though he had the sound turned off, Sardon easily guessed what was being said. The second trainer was obviously describing in great detail what he was planning to do with the dildo and the slave's part in the fun.

Ah, there was Kerry. Today Kerry was working out on a treadmill. Sex might be great exercise, but it hardly put muscles on a slave. Sexual activity did not emphasize the pectorals or round the buttocks.

Sardon sipped his glass of wine and watched with increasing interest the continuous exertions of his "late" nephew. Kerry no longer looked the way he did when he started his life as a sex slave trainee in this establishment. Despite the monotonous diet, Kerry looked as though he had put on weight. His muscular definition was enhanced. Kerry no longer looked like the stereotypical scholar that he had been. Now he looked like a young man who exercised routinely and regularly. Sardon itched to run his hands over Kerry's sweat-covered body.

No matter how much it might be interesting and exciting to have Kerry as his own sex slave, the elder Avon realized just how foolhardy such a situation would be. It would be better if Kerry belonged to someone--someone like Gurwold. It didn't matter if it were business or pleasure, Gurwold liked to play rough. Yes, Gurwold might be the perfect master for Kerry. He was certainly rich enough to pay the price of a young, well-trained slave like Kerry. The man was also a generous friend. His slaves' services were always available to his closest friends. And Sardon was a close personal friend of Gurwold. If Gurwold bought Kerry, Sardon would still have limited access to his favorite fuckee. Sardon would make sure that Gurwold knew about this particular sex slave at the next sale.

It was so much fun to fuck Kerry. Sardon smiled at the memories. He had fucked Kerry the first time when he stole the younger man's inheritance. The second time Sardon fucked Kerr was when he kidnaped the youth and sold him to his present life of sexual service. Sardon felt himself growing aroused at the memories of the other time he had fucked Kerry. They were good memories. It was amusing to stick his prick into the asshole of the bound, blinded, and gagged slave. It would certainly make it more exciting if Kerry knew who was his fucker. Perhaps the next time, Sardon would make himself known to Kerry.

* * *

Jorj unlocked the Holiday Room. He carefully checked it to see if the room was ready for its next occupant. The inspection did not take long. The room was small and its furnishings were sparse. Across from the door, there was a lightly padded, wide shelf with spider-spun coverings. Just above the sleeping area, there was a niche with a variety of foods and liquids in edible containers. Near the left wall, a hole in the floor served as the toilet area. A built-in sonic shower completed the room's amenities. Nodding to the ever-present surveillance camera, Jorj left.

Jorj watched as Sim led the docile trainee down the hallway toward the Holiday Room. According to the training schedule, the dark-haired youth had just come from serving at a private party. From the looks of him, Jorj decided it might have been one arranged for that old fart, Gurwold. The slave was having some difficulty with his balance. His walk was as slow and as deliberate as Sim and the cock leash permitted. Although the slave's feet were unfettered, he still wore metal manacles on his wrists. His shoulders were crisscrossed with wide stripes which continued down his buttocks to his knees. Dried semen spotted his abdomen and backside. The elaborately woven gag so forced the youth's mouth open that his jaw appeared almost to be disjointed. Heavy tit clamps hung from his chest and identical clamps decorated his ball sac.

"Stop."

Immediately the slave stopped his forward motion. By spreading his feet wide apart, Kerry managed to keep his side-to-side motion to a minimum. Pain from the clamps and welts fought for his attention through his exhaustion. Kerry had learned to ignore pain messages as much as possible. There had been times when he had given into the pain and the pain had decreased. Still other times the pain had continued, but at a higher level. Tears rolled silently down his cheeks.

"Kerry, me lad," Sim rubbed his hand down the slave's chest. He watched the youth's reaction as he pinched folds of skin or pulled on the tit clamps. "You're about to receive a treat."

A treat? The words slowly sank into Kerry's mind and became recognizable sounds with meanings. A treat? Slowly the youth became more aware of what was happening to him. A treat? Kerry tried to steel himself for what might come. Since he had arrived in this hellhole, `a treat' often meant that more discomfort, more pain, more punishment would soon be his.

Deftly, Jorj and Sim removed the gag, clamps, fetters, sound distorters, and cock leash. They left only the electronic collar. Pushing Kerry through the doorway to the Holiday Room, both men forcefully slapped the slave's buttocks. Moaning, Kerry stumbled into the room. Without any orders from the trainers, he had no clue as to what he was to do. Falling to his knees, Kerry interlaced his fingers behind his neck and lowered his head. And waited.

After sealing the door, Jorj turned to Sim. "How long do you think he'll stay like that?"

"I don't know." Sim rubbed his hand over his chin. "I'd guess about an hour. What's your guess?"

"Five to three that he'll still be like that for two hours." Jorj and Sim gravely shook hands.

The two trainers checked the surveillance tape at the end of their shifts. Kerry slumped to the floor in sleep after kneeling and waiting for three hours.

* * *

Tril, a senior trainer, entered the observation room looking for Sardon Avon. The Alpha sat in his accustomed chair watching the surveillance monitors.

"Commissioner Avon, I've come to talk with you about Kerry." Sitting down next to Sardon, the Beta continued, "I don't think he's quite ready to go to auction yet."

"Look at him," Sardon gestured to the monitor which showed Kerry still in the Holiday Room. "He's slept and waited. Oh, he hasn't even investigated the room. He hasn't eaten, drunk, or showered. It's obvious that he's been broken. He can't make even the simplest decisions on his own anymore." Gesturing at the monitor again, the Alpha continued, "He's waiting for someone to tell him what to do."

"There's some evidence which could be interpreted that we've not broken Kerry yet." Tril shook his head. Leaning forward, he entered a series of numbers into the computer and called up a tape from Kerry's last training session, the private party. "Here's Kerry sucking cock and very quietly encouraging the master to move. See? When Kerry starts sucking, his back is to the camera." Tril fast-forwarded the tape. "The camera doesn't move. But by the end, Kerry has managed to turn the master thirty degrees."

Sardon looked at the tape. "It could be that the master turned Kerry."

"Did you turn Kerry? That's you being sucked at Gurwold's party yesterday."

"I've checked other tapes of Kerry in training. Some show what could be subtle manipulation on his part. Kerry is not ready to go to auction. If we had been able to use drugs to break Kerry, he might be ready. But with his chemical allergies, we could only use the older methods. They do work, but they do take longer."

"I don't care if he is not yet completely broken." Sardon's voice rose. "He goes to auction. Besides I've arranged for him to have a short, but interesting life after he leaves here. If he isn't completely broken by the time of the auction, it won't matter."

* * *

The building's largest room was filled with bright lights, bright colors, and the rich and powerful. While conversations among the guests competed with the soft background music, servers offered trays of delicacies and liquors from around the Federation. Sardon mingled with the other guests. There were a few unrecognized faces, but most were known to Sardon either socially or from his visits to the brothel. Sardon watched two new individuals move about the room. One was a dark-haired woman dressed elegantly in red: the other, a man with a head of unruly dark curls. They looked about Kerry's age or a little older. Sardon decided that they must be old money to afford such amusements.

"Gurwold," Sardon turned to greet his old friend. "`Tis good to see you. Are you planning to buy tonight?"

"As if you didn't know." The corpulent man smiled. "You were the one who put me onto that delicious young thing, Kerry. Tril told me that he is to be in tonight's auction, and I plan to take him home. I've had fun with Kerry here, but I've got lots of plans of my own for him--things I can't do here."

"I thought that you might like him. I hope you'll soon invite me to enjoy his talents again."

"Most certainly."

The chiming of a bell ended the conversation. It was time for tonight's merchandise to be put on display.

Heavy curtains covered one side of the room. Rising slowly, ten tables came into view. On each mirror-topped table there knelt a naked human. Their legs were chained far apart and their hands were chained behind their necks. Virtually every part of the slaves was available for visual or manual inspection. The sale contract and medical history were mounted on the wall behind the appropriate slave.

Sardon made the pretense of inspecting each slave and reading the contracts and medical histories. All the while he kept an eye on Kerry. The group for sale was a mixed lot--male and female: Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Delta. Some were paying off debts: some were earning money to support their families: some had found their preferred way of life. And then there was Kerry. Kerry of the ten-year contract.

Finally Sardon came to Kerry's table. Kerry looked magnificent. He was clean, oiled, and freshly depilated. His dilated eyes made him look languid and added to his sexual attractiveness. His cock was erect and seeping. Kerry was certainly a magnificent boy toy. Sardon looked closely at Kerry. The sound distorters were in place so the elder Avon had little reason to think that Kerry might recognize his presence.

With his sight and hearing grossly impaired, Kerry could only really react to touch. Sardon watched as the two dark-haired strangers scrutinized Kerry. The woman stroked his shaft and fondled his balls. After pinching the slave's nipples, the man caressed Kerry's face. Briefly, Sardon wondered if the tears that welled in Kerry's eyes were for the caress or from the pain.

A bell chimed the second time and the auction began. Kerry was the last to be sold. Sardon waited calmly, certain that Gurwold was so taken with his prospective slave that he would be the one to buy Kerry at any price.

After the auction was over, trainers quickly attached collars with leashes around the slaves' necks. After removing the chains, the trainers helped the chattel from the tables. On hands and knees, the slaves were led to their new owners.

"Sorry, old chap," Gurwold slapped Sardon on the shoulder. "I was outbid."

Sardon watched in amazement as Kerry bent his head to kiss the foot of his master--the man with the dark curly hair.

the end

 


End file.
